


Secret Memos of Byakuya Kuchiki

by KittyGetsLoose



Category: Bleach
Genre: Humor, Multi, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyGetsLoose/pseuds/KittyGetsLoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byakuya's secret memos to himself betray peculiar obsessions with hair, clothing, fashion, Renji, Rukia and quite a bit more. Absolutely not to be taken seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kenseikan

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach, and make no money or profit from writing this fanfic; Tite Kubo has all the rights to the original manga and anime and the characters in them.

  
**Secret Memo Number One – Kenseikan**   


Memo to self: Exercising greater caution will be vital when I next choose to break a rule. I may be only one demonstration of aberrant behaviour away from bringing calamity to my clan. If our great family is stripped of its rank and honours because of any further signs of unacceptably erratic or plebeian conduct from its twenty-eighth head, then I, Kuchiki Byakuya, shall no longer be entitled to wear the kenseikan. That would be catastrophic, for it keeps a nice crimp in my hair and makes it fall in exquisite waves when I take the headpiece off at night.

Additional note to self: Begin searching discreetly for alternative headpieces that do not utterly resemble girly curlers, lest the worst befall my noble house.


	2. Ginpaku Kazano-hana Usuginu

  
**Secret Memo Number Two – Ginpaku Kazano-hana Usuginu**   


Memo to self: I must endeavour to learn by surreptitious means what my idiot vice-captain has done with the scarf I so graciously dropped over his bloodied, broken, beautiful body as he lay spilling his guts where I had penetrated him with countless blades. Perhaps the thought that each of those blades piercing his flesh was symbolic of the unspoken desire I have to thrust something else entirely into some completely different part of his anatomy was communicated to him as he lay dying, and the subconscious knowledge of it has given him reason to live.

As he has mysteriously become healthier, fitter, and more obscenely delectable than ever since recovering from our duel, I am of the opinion that he should take that scarf I bestowed upon him and exchange it for at least one of the ten houses it is worth. No, perhaps not ten houses, now that it is badly soiled with his filthy, delicious blood. But if he launders it carefully and gets most of the stains out, it will still be worth at least five houses – possibly more if he auctions it off among my groupie fangirls.

One house is all we need to secretly rendezvous between training sessions and mind-numbing administrative work. I could keep him there all day, the tasty monkey.

PS – Remember to ask Shunsui for the name of his dry cleaner's, then drop an anonymous note into the redheaded idiot's pocket hinting that said dry cleaners are able to render fabulously valuable windflower silk gauze scarves nearly free of arterial blood. Have never used dry cleaning services myself as I have never seen fit to retain any item in my wardrobe that has become too soiled for my servants to deal with.


	3. The Minx and The Monkey

  
**Secret Memo Number Three – The Minx and the Monkey**   


Memo to self: The idiot monkey desires my adopted sister. This I have known for a long time. He believes I took her away from him, but he knows not that fate has been merciful to him, and cruel to me. For had my precious Hisana not specified that Rukia be permitted to call me her "Onii-sama" one day, I would have taken the little minx as my second wife the moment I found her, so greatly does she resemble the dear one I lost fifty years ago. Especially when we are both at home and she wanders around the mansion at night in her translucent white sleepwear.

I imagine crushing her tiny, luscious body to my noble, rock-hard chest, thrusting my tongue into her rosebud mouth, and lowering her to the futon to lie beneath me. Although some adjustment of tactics may be necessary, as her resemblance to her sister ends with their looks, and I must take care to avoid being floored by an ice-smooth strike from her virgin-white Sode no Shirayuki. Or getting karate-chopped in the jaw by her vicious little hand, as I have observed her do to both my idiot lieutenant and that damnable orange-haired punk from the world of the living.

I imagine doing much the same to my idiot lieutenant too, especially when we are both in the barracks and he wanders around on nights when he cannot sleep, stripped down to his flimsy hakama. However, even greater adjustment of tactics will be required there – the pure physics alone would make crushing him to my rock-hard chest unfeasible, as he is significantly taller than I.

Additional note for the day: Very important – must find means of slipping unobserved into Kira Izuru's quarters. That repressed little bastard "borrowed" a copy of a manual on "Coping with Bisexuality, Dead or Alive" forty years ago from the Seireitei library and has never returned it. If I in turn "borrow" it from him it will never be traced. May require advice from it.


	4. Tainted Shihakusho

  
**Secret Memo Number Four – Tainted Shihakusho**   


Memo to self: The servants must be disciplined. Did I not instruct them to burn the shihakusho that I wore to the world of the living? Do they not comprehend how tainted it is? One supposes that they examined it, found it in perfect condition, and returned it to my wardrobe. But I know which it is out of all my identical designer shihakusho, because it still reeks of the touch of that orange-haired punk. The nerve of him, seizing the hem of my garments when I entered his vile world to retrieve my Rukia, who should belong so completely to me that I thought her better off dead when I believed she had consorted too familiarly with the carrot-headed ningen. What else was I to think upon discovering that they had slept in the same bedchamber for weeks?

I realised my mistake almost too late, when in the duel with the obnoxious punk near the execution grounds, I understood from his manner that he had never lain with my Rukia, but had a non-carnal friendship with her. That was when I knew she had to live.

I should have known that she would not stoop so low as to yield her perfect, petite self to that jaundice-haired blockhead. After all, she kicked his hand away from my pure-till-then robe – she understands my honourable position, and how important my clothes are to me. Damn it all. Why is that irresistible kitten my sister?

PS – Reconsider burning the shihakusho; it may be a symbol of how well my Rukia knows me.

PPS – Find out why Shunsui is being so cagey about the name of his dry cleaner's. It must either be a pretty female whom he fears will favour my high-bred beauty above his scruffy, unshaven looks, or that he is selfishly guarding the secret of how he keeps his flowery kimono spotless despite his contemptible habit of lying down on it everywhere. He must tell me, so that I may ask if they are capable of removing the Kurosaki punk's stench from my shihakusho. And arterial blood from windflower silk gauze scarves.


	5. Catbitch Extermination

  
**Secret Memo Number Five – Cat-bitch Extermination**   


Memo to self: How does one go about arranging for Yoruichi of the Shihoin clan to be humanely put to sleep? Or inhumanely, for that matter? Must find out how these things work in the ningen world – it is best done there, as nobody will notice one less stray black cat around. The cat-bitch rattles on endlessly about out-Shunpo-ing me at every opportunity.

It is also unacceptable that her garments are more impressive than mine. That gorgeous tentoken cape lets her _fly_. That is insufferably unfair. Our houses are equal in nobility, but she has abandoned her duties for 100 years and should not have better designer clothing than I do. It is especially galling that such excellent garments should belong to someone who so enjoys walking around naked, exposing her luscious breasts, which she undoubtedly allows Urahara, the traitorous dog, to regularly rub his face in.

PS – It is essential that no one should suspect that my distaste for Yoruichi originates from her rejection of my sexual advances when we were teenagers. I have never fully overcome the shock of finding her "beyond naked" in Urahara's embrace behind the garden shed – but no one must ever know that.

Bitch.


	6. Bikini

  
**Secret Memo Number Six – Bikini**   


Memo to self: Restraint is the mark of a cultured Shinigami captain. Loss of control would be unacceptable.

Nevertheless, if I discover which of the vulgar women of the Soul Society encouraged Rukia to don that two-piece swimsuit for the beach outing to the world of the living, I should pick the bad influence up by the throat in one hand and slap her hard around the head with the other.

That tiny bikini bottom, dipping so low that everyone could see the flawless, inviting crevice between her pert little butt-cheeks... I am certain it was the vulgar airhead Matsumoto who suggested the bikini to my innocent Rukia. Or Yoruichi, the nudist cat-bitch. Or the apricot-haired ningen female with a crush on the Kurosaki punk the size of her breasts. They plainly do not make good company for Rukia and should all be slapped silly.

If she had not donned a shirt by the time I arranged for her to be in my sand-sculpture team for the beach games, I would have disgraced myself publicly, and eternally, by burying my face inside that scrap of bikini bottom.

Why, on the other hand, was Renji so covered up in his sleeveless tank and surfer shorts? I yearned to shred his clothing from his body, but instead diverted my frustrations into my endeavour to sculpt him naked in sand. Unfortunately, the spiky hair on the sculpture refused to be shaped, and sadly turned into curved gobs. I was obliged to admit artistic defeat and label it the "Seaweed Ambassador" rather than "Abarai, Nude".

Gracious compromise is occasionally essential in the career of a Shinigami captain.

PS – If ever I learn that Rukia's sand "rabbit" was a failed attempt to immortalise the carrot-head in sculpture, I shall kill the ningen punk a thousand ways from here to the end of the world.


	7. Carrot-head Must Die

  
**Secret Memo Number Seven – Carrot-head Must Die**   


Memo to self: The carrot-headed punk must die. To this day, I have not succeeded in finding out what the "heartfelt" words were that Renji intended to say to me in my hospital room, before we were rudely interrupted by the ningen upstart jumping up three floors to poke half his body through the window.

I cannot ask my lieutenant directly, for it would expose an unbecoming neediness in my character. Yet, I am unable to extract it from him by subtle means. I did ask him after the orange-headed moron left if he thought the boy intended to continue disrespectfully and familiarly addressing me by my first name – it was my attempt to glean from him hints about how he himself would feel about calling me "Byakuya" (especially in the throes of passion). But the idiot baboon had nothing to say.

Nothing to say? When I was all but undressed, scarfless and devoid of my hair-crimping kenseikan, robe gaping open at the front, and only flimsy bandages protecting my noble body? He should have had an overwhelming urge to rip those bandages off me to reach my raw, aristocratic flesh. The physical pain he would have inflicted would have been a fitting reflection of the psychological anguish I endure.

Additional note to self: Explore the possibility that it will be more exciting to have Renji address me as "Captain" rather than "Byakuya" in the throes of passion. It does seem sexier.


	8. Desert Cape

  
**Secret Memo Number Eight – Desert Cape**   


Memo to self: I have by now given Renji two articles of clothing – the windflower silk scarf, and the desert cape for his expedition to Hueco Mundo to recover the silly ningen female. While the fate of the scarf remains uncertain, I know he has worn the desert cape. Going by traditional European courtship customs, that means he has consented to be mine. Such customs dictate that one does not wear a gift of clothing unless one is agreeable to accepting the giver as a lover.

It is true that neither of us is European.

It is also true that I gave him the cape through Rukia, and he is thus unaware that it came from my wardrobe.

Neither does he know that it forms part of an elaborate and highly personalised Kuchiki courtship ritual which I am making up as we go along.

But those are minor inconveniences. They do not alter his acceptance of me, nor will they prevent me from exercising my claim at an appropriate time.

Alas, Rukia had her own cape. I was therefore unable to give her one, although she accepted the other on behalf of Renji, who had lost the similar article previously issued by the squad. So it is that I shall have to woo her using an alternative method. Perhaps I should research Inuit wedding customs next.

In the meantime, I must ask Renji how he feels about traditional European courtship rituals. I can arrange to have the question included on our next squad quiz night down at the tavern.

Additional note: It matters not that the cape was shredded in the delectable fool's duel with Szayel-Aporro Grantz. That he wore it at all signifies his desire for me, conscious or not. The only disturbing note in all of this is that the shredder of the cape was sorted out by Kurotsuchi, the sadistic creep. It had better not mean that I owe that mad scientist anything. If he tries staking a claim on my redhead for "defending his honour" or whatever other absurdities he loves to spew, I will smash every test tube in his filthy lab.


	9. Six

  
**Secret Memo Number Nine – Six**   


Memo to self: Ayasegawa Yumichika may be a feathered freak who is possibly even more sexually confused than I am. But he does have keen aesthetic sensibilities. I am therefore troubled by his assertion that three is the most beautiful number.

Why am I, Kuchiki Byakuya, not captain of the most beautifully numbered court guard squad? After all, I am the most beautiful captain... although Ukitake-taichou may give me a run for my money. Ukitake is undeniably pretty. Those silken platinum locks, the handsome face, the immense spiritual power, the touching vulnerability of his illness, which makes one want to cradle him in one's arms... no, stop. Stop that, Byakuya. You tried it about a century ago only to be kindly advised that it was unbecoming for a noble to desire his mentor carnally.

Could I not be captain of the third squad? Alas, it has been tainted by the memory of Ichimaru, the squinting, smiling bastard. The freaky feathered one insists that five is the next most beautiful. But that too has been tainted by Aizen, the mother of all bastards.

Damn it. Six is a perfectly beautiful number. It looks both elegant and energetic, drops of water springing from a single plane. I shall regard the three droplets as representations of myself on top, with Rukia and Renji at the bottom, a thin bedsheet between us. Now that is much better. To hell with Yumichika and his flighty aesthetic sensibilities.


	10. Violated Haori

  


**Secret Memo Number Ten – Violated Haori**  


Memo to self: Ensure that this time, the servants do in fact burn the item of clothing I instruct them to destroy... if it can be recovered, that is. No, not the tainted shihakusho – that will be spared for now – I refer instead to the haori that was so disgustingly impaled on the sword of that misshapen freak, Zommari Rureaux.

The whole sordid business very nearly cost me an arm and a leg, literally. How repulsive that he first thrust a phallic symbol through my spotless haori, then tried to make my limbs his own through his "Amor". I promise that if he were not already dead, he would be deader. I want to cut my limbs off just thinking about the way he took control of them. Having a leg humped by Komamura is nothing compared with that violation by Zommari.

Even more unforgivable, he looked at Rukia. Looked. At. My. Rukia. The audacity of him – actually _looking_ at her, so far above himself, with not two eyes but _fifty_. That presumptuous, puffed-up, oversized pumpkin was finished from the moment he turned one of those ugly orbs of his Brujeria in the direction of what was mine.

That he attempted to possess her was unforgivable. I almost wish I had kept him breathing just so that I could hollow him out and carve him up alive into a holiday decoration, which I would then dump somewhere over the North American continent in late October. I have indeed been researching North American customs, but nothing suitable for Rukia has emerged in the courtship department.


	11. The Uniform, The Dress and The Wimps

  
**Secret Memo Number Eleven – The Uniform, the Dress and the Wimps**   


Note to self: It has become necessary to abandon my earlier plan of using traditional European courtship rituals to snare my idiot lieutenant and my adopted sister. For I have discovered, to my dismay, that if Renji and Rukia were to take such customs seriously, it would mean that Renji would have to marry a wimpy individual apparently under my command known as Rikichi; and Rukia would have to marry the skinny Quincy. I cannot ignore the fact that they have knowingly and willingly worn items of clothing presented by those creatures – a uniform and a dress respectively, so I am told. If my sources are correct, the dress was even personally stitched by the Quincy.

Unacceptable. The mere notion of Rukia clasped in the arms of that scrawny archer makes me want to put a perfectly formed finger down my elegant throat. As for Rikichi, who is Rikichi? Do I have such a person in my squad? It appears that I do, now that I am running my fine-boned finger down the divisional name list, which I have been using as a bookend.

I must take my idiot redhead's remarks seriously about noticing the things that are far beneath me, so that when these same things attempt to woo their vice-captains with misappropriated Shinigami uniforms, I can take preventive action by exiling them to Hueco Mundo.

PS – I begin to fear that my priceless windflower silk gauze scarf was ripped up into bandages for Renji by that testosterone-deficient fool, Yamada Hanataro. Its whereabouts simply cannot be traced.


	12. Senbon Zakura Kageyoshi

  
**Secret Memo Number Twelve: Senbon Zakura Kageyoshi**   


Note to self: Never again eat any of Ukitake's ohagi when he sends some over at night. His habit of offering home-made food to his fellow captains – particularly the midget, Hitsugaya – is most endearing. But alas, those sweet rice balls do not agree with me. They have given me nightmares, one of which has unearthed something most disturbing from my subconsciousness.

Because of that troubling vision, in which Kurosaki Ichigo writhes naked on my blades, I am now questioning myself: Was there or was there not something horrendously symbolic about my telling the orange-haired blockhead that he was only the second person to see the full column of a thousand blades of my Senbon Zakura in its annihilation mode? Or in my declaring to him that I intended to kill him with my own hand, as if he were someone that significant to me?

There's a phallic reference, or a thousand references, somewhere in there that I do not wish to think about.

This is not happening. Why could I not have dreamt instead of Renji writhing naked on my blades? I would have awoken in a state of masculine arousal rather than girlish squeamishness.

I blame the ohagi.

PS – On a somewhat related note, why does Ukitake give more food to Hitsugaya than to anyone else? Is it part of a courtship ritual? What does he see in the midget that he never saw in me?


	13. Captains' Meetings

  
**Secret Memo Number Thirteen – Captains' Meetings**   


Memo to self: There must be something I can do to change the view at the captains' meetings. For decades, I have tolerated the uninspiring sight directly opposite me of a towering giant wearing a bucket over his head. The bucket may have come off, but the view has not improved.

Although I could angle my head towards Captain-Commander Yamamoto throughout, it puts a crick in my swan-like neck by the end of a long meeting. It is not as if the Captain-Commander looks that hot either – and people are still stupid enough to ask why I always keep my eyes down in meetings.

When the captains of the Third, Fifth and Ninth (interesting, how they are all odd-numbered) had the bad taste to ally themselves with ugly Hollows, I had hopes of Komamura sidling up the row so the remaining odd-numbered captains could spread out a bit.

But he remains staunchly in place across from me, an immovable boulder, sans bucket, while I remain trapped between Unohana and Kyoraku. I do not like the way Komamura looks at me. It makes me feel like a hunk of meat. Why does Renji never stare at me that way?

Regrattably, even if Komamura were to shift up, Ukitake would still not move far enough up the row to give me some eye candy to gaze at when the old man drones on too long. Zaraki would move into my view long before Ukitake-taichou would.

Between Ugly Mug Zaraki and the Fur-Face, I'm not sure which would be worse. I may just prefer the bucket.


	14. Punk Envy

  
**Secret Memo Number Fourteen – Punk Envy**   


Memo to self: I have concluded that I have begun to dream regularly of the Kurosaki boy because I secretly envy him. It is therefore imperative that I examine what he has, or has done, that I want for myself. This is the list I have drawn up thus far:

One: He has slept in the same bedroom as Rukia. It is one of my life's ambitions.

Two: He has sat side-by-side with Renji after they have beaten the stuffing out of each other, and talked of deeply personal things. That is another of my life's ambitions.

Three: I hear that he has had Renji sit on his bed while the redheaded idiot was in the human world on one of his more recent missions. I can only have wet dreams about such a thing happening.

Four: He has beaten the crap out of that ugly devil, Zaraki Kenpachi.

Five: He has taken a bath with Yoruichi. Stark naked. In a hot spring. With Yoruichi.

Six: He has picked Rukia up by the obi and hurled her down ten storeys into Renji's arms... no, that's not right... that cannot possibly be among my life's ambitions.

Seven: He has beaten the crap out of that ugly devil, Zaraki Kenpachi. Yes, have said it before.

Eight: He has wash-and-go hair.

Nine: He can break every inane rule in the Soul Society and still be hailed as a hero. I find that bitterly unfair.

Ten: He has beaten the crap out of Zaraki Kenpachi. It really bears repeating.


	15. Shackled Monkey

  
**Secret Memo Number Fifteen – Shackled Monkey**   


Memo to self: I must find more excuses to punish Renji every now and again. That idiot vice-captain of mine is never hotter than when he is bare-bodied _and_ shackled. That was the primary reason I ordered him arrested and thrown into a cell after he took on the Kurosaki boy alone (and failed to kill him) in the initial stages of the first Ryoka invasion.

He has no idea how many times I secretly looked in on him by peering through the spyhole I made in the ceiling of his cell. I almost drooled through the hole. Fortunately I shut my mouth in time, or the drool would have landed on that testy snake-tailed baboon of a zanpakuto he has. I have a nasty suspicion that beastly, untamed weapon of his would have reared up of its own accord and bitten me through the ceiling if I had salivated on it while its wielder lay unconscious.

Another reason for my ordering him to be locked up was that I was furious to think he would even attempt to die at anyone's hands but my own. His recklessness in taking on the Ryoka solo reeked of Zaraki Kenpachi's style, and I do not like to think of that ugly mug with the jingle-bell hair having any lingering influence on my scrumptious redheaded monkey.

The monkey is mine.


	16. Underthings

  
**Secret Memo Number Sixteen – Underthings**   


Memo to self: Was it a mistake to have secretly entered the human world while Rukia and Renji were both there? All I wanted was a glimpse of them, so I made some vague excuse about needing to check on something confidential, obtained clearance for the use of a soul butterfly, and went into the mortal world with my reiatsu concealed to hide both my presence and identity.

But the first sight I had of Rukia almost stopped my heart dead. I could have had cardiac arrest on the spot. The figure-hugging school uniform with that sinfully short skirt. Those legs – sleek, shapely, endless inches of impossibly bare flesh going up, up, up into the circle of that barely decent scrap of grey fabric teasing me with a glimpse of jaw-droppingly skimpy panties with each passing breeze.

Crisp white cotton panties.

I think I've died and gone to the Soul Society. What am I saying? I _am_ in the Soul Society. Forbidden glimpses of my sister's underthings have obviously destroyed my normal thought processes.

Renji was much more covered-up, but his body tattoos were peeking out invitingly from under his half-unbuttoned school shirt collar. Unlike Rukia, who is scrupulous about washing and keeping her smalls safe while in the Kurosaki boy's home, that idiot vice-captain of mine carelessly lets Urahara's household launder his clothing. The gorilla and two midgets obviously resent the additional chores, and have tossed one of his pairs of boxer shorts over the wall into the road. Unwashed.

Those boxers are now mine.

PS – I had better not be mistaken, because if I should later discover that I have been sleeping in Urahara's underwear, I will have to disinfect my bottom for weeks.


	17. Penetration

**Secret Memo Number Seventeen – Penetration**

Memo to self: Rukia has been penetrated far too many times by other males for my liking. The penetration has not been of that critical nature that I intend to reserve purely for myself (or perhaps in partnership with my redheaded monkey), but nonetheless, it is disturbing.

She has been impaled on the arm of the bastard Aizen, as well as on the arm of the deformed animal Grimmjow. She has also been impaled on the spear of the two-headed freak in a fish tank, Aaroniero Arruriere, against whom I feel double the grudge, as he was not only an ugly Arrancar, but even wore the face of that annoying Shiba Kaien to boot.

Why did all those males feel the urge not merely to slash or crush or poison my Rukia, but to go a step further and thrust various appendages right through her? She obviously arouses unconscious lust in more individuals than I like to think she does.

I've tried to keep up with all those rivals by penetrating her myself with my Rikujo Koro, but thrusting through her body harmlessly with a six-rod light restraint somehow does not compare with the masculine, powerful consummation of a strong arm or a spear.

Then again, I had _six_ rods, while the others used only one each.

I win.


	18. Fashionable Outerwear

**Secret Memo Number Eighteen – Fashionable Outerwear**

Memo to self: I lied when Captain-Commander Yamamoto asked what the captain's haori meant to me. I told him it was cheap and easily replaceable. But that was not entirely true.

I simply could not confess in front of Zaraki the Ugly and Shunsui the Unkempt how the symbol of my status as a captain was so easily whipped off my back by an oversized (but now very dead) pumpkin while I was charging to the rescue of my beloved Rukia.

The haori is not cheap, as I claimed just to save face. The material could be better, but its cut is pleasing, and it flows majestically around my ankles as I walk, complementing the light movements of the priceless scarf adorning my perfect throat.

I hate to privately agree with Shunsui, but it _is_ a fashionable garment (except if you are short, like Hitsugaya, in which case it makes you look like a munchkin – he should take up the hem a bit more).

Zaraki, naturally, had to answer that his haori was a pain in the ass. Uncouth animal. What would he know about carrying off an elegant garment designed for the beautiful? I even suspect that he has, all along, worn the very same tattered item he ripped off the body of the previous captain of the eleventh. It certainly looked and smelt bad enough to have never been washed since then.

This whole incident has embarrassed me. Not only did I lose my captain's coat, but I had to lose it in the _same_ campaign in which Zaraki Kenpachi and Shunsui lost theirs. It looks bad. If people didn't know better, they would think the three of us had had a roll in the hay together and then forgot our clothes.

What a disgusting thought.

The next time I lose any garments in a fight, I shall rip Renji's clothes off as well. Everyone can think whatever they like then.


	19. Safe Zone

**Secret Memo Number Nineteen – Safe Zone**

The temerity of that dishonourable scoundrel, Tsukishima Shukuro, defies belief. That he violated the sanctity of my very past by underhandedly inserting himself into my history is a crime that merits death by slow boiling in the poorest-quality cooking oil, after which he should be fed to swine like the pigs the fat Shiba and his friends are always stampeding around on.

How dare that worthless nobody invite himself retrospectively to all the training sessions I have ever undergone? How dare he arrange events so as to be able to claim that I had revealed to him the most intimate details of my combat techniques? And worst of all – that he would then proceed to invade my snug 80-centimetre personal space at the very moment I unleashed my beautiful cherry blossom blades, to keep himself safe from their lethal edges!

That flea got off lightly. I have an urge to track him down and flatten him underfoot like the parasite he is before deep-frying him to an artery-clogging crisp.

I might, however, consider boiling him in a marginally better grade of cooking oil than the worst – a small concession in return for the good idea he has given me regarding an excellent use for my Safe Zone: I can engineer a patrol with Renji in which we get drawn into a ferocious fight with some enemy sufficiently dangerous for me to justify the use of my bankai – and I shall then order Renji into my personal space for his own safety. Eighty centimetres will be a tight fit for a strapping lad like him – he will have to press himself up against my back to keep every inch of his delicious skin intact. And I should have no trouble convincing him that wrapping his arms around me will keep us both stable in the zone.

Additional note to self: Bring Rukia along. She's tiny enough to fit right in there with us.


End file.
